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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26676295">the coffee shop where real love grows</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma'>bokutoma</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>sylvix week 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Miklan (Fire Emblem), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Childhood, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Established Relationship, M/M, Miklan (Fire Emblem) Redemption, POV Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sad Sylvain Jose Gautier, Soft Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Sylvain Jose Gautier's Father's Bad Parenting, Sylvix Week (Fire Emblem), Violence, actually. not really. but he tries, and sylvain is right to do whatever he feels, but only kinda, sylvain goes to therapy, unrelated to the bad stuff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:32:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26676295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>it takes work to make a real relationship despite all the challenges they have ahead of them</p><p> </p><p>  <i>sylvix week day 7: domestic life (vague) / childhood / workplace au<i></i></i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>sylvix week 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sylvix Week 2020 Fic Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the coffee shop where real love grows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>a sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028823">this</a></p><p>big ol warning, there is a lot of miklan and margrave gautier, and miklan comes back and apologizes. if that doesn't interest you/doesn't sound good for your mental health, feel free to click out. i won't be offended</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Once upon a time, there had been a little boy with hair of red and a tongue made for causing trouble. He could recite every story he'd ever been told from the age of five, and his mother had lavished praise on him, calling him her smart, special boy. His father hadn't been nearly so impressed, but he'd smiled that funny little smile of his and clapped a broad hand on his narrow shoulder all the same, citing his memory as something that would serve him far more practically in the future.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What that little boy hadn't yet realized was that his father's affection was fleeting, and that if he was special, no one else could be.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His brother, however, had known that all too well.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>To say that coming out to his parents doesn't go well is an understatement. Felix had offered to come in, of course, but Sylvain had denied him with a shaky smile.</p><p>"I'm used to them," he'd said, trying to act like the panic attack two weeks ago hadn't happened. "You'd get the cops called on you."</p><p>Luther Marcos Gautier is an influential prosecutor; there is no need for him to finish the rest of that thought.</p><p>Still, as the six thousand dollar table Varley-Aegir table splinters and groans under the force of the senior Gautier's grip, Sylvain really wishes he'd chosen differently.</p><p>"Who else knows?" his father snarls, face an incomprehensible mask of rage, and Sylvain counts the deepest red threads in the original Varley solo rug, fighting an onslaught of memories better left buried.</p><p>"Does it matter?" he says, but his voice tapers off at the end.</p><p>"Think long and hard about what you want to do here, boy." Luther's voice is low, lethal, a storm cloud begging for an excuse to burst. "Surely you're capable of <em>some</em> thought in that brainless head of yours."</p><p>Sylvain does not bother looking to his mother; no help would come from that quarter. He cannot say a word, but from that silence, his father extrapolates all he needs.</p><p>As Luther Marcos Gautier's fist collides with his cheek, all he can think about is how desperately glad he is that he listened to Felix and transferred the money in his bank accounts to a new one, free from the Gautier name.</p><p>After all, he will almost certainly need to buy new clothes once he gets thrown out.</p><p>But the front door is opening, lock broken to only one man's machinations, and there is a light flashing in his eyes with a whispered apology that only he can hear, never mind the improbability.</p><p>"Shit<em>damn,</em> Mr. Gautier," Felix says, and the apparent carelessness in his voice is more of an indicator of his disdain and fury than shouting could ever be. "You should be careful who you beat and abuse in front of witnesses."</p><p>Through the ringing in his ears and the bruise he can feel forming at his eye, he sees Felix wave his phone, the image of split skin and blood on the prosecutor's knuckles shining back at him.</p><p>"And you broke into my goddamn house." Sylvain's father is a menace, larger than life, teeth bared in a furious snarl, a demon come to life. His shirt is untucked; Sylvain is so desperately scared. "Who do you think a court will side with, you little gutter rat?"</p><p>Felix is laughing, laughing, laughing. "You aren't the only one with influential friends, you washed-up, strung-out old bastard."</p><p>And for the first time he can remember, his father backs down.</p><p>Felix's hand is a grounding presence that never leaves him even as they make the trek down the too-long driveway, the palpable rage of everything he is leaving behind all too ominous, bearing down on him with a weight that will never, ever lift.</p><p>"I love you too, by the way," Felix says as they settle into his beat-to-hell-and-back Honda Civic. The Front Bottoms are playing on his brand-new stereo - Sylvain had gotten to play DJ for once - and it's funny that he hasn't thought about the pin they'd put in that conversation, the one that had started all of this. On the floor at work, ass smeared with spilled syrups and the residue of dropped doughnuts, he'd told Felix he loved - loves - him.</p><p>This is the first time Felix has said it back.</p><p>It doesn't fix everything, and when they pull into a drive-thru for ice cream that precariously wobbles and threatens to dump all over the leather trim of their seats, the employee at the window gives the crusted-over scab on his face a serious stare. All the same, Felix shifts in front of him, Felix pays, and it's Felix who curls up against him on the couch and sits with him as he resolutely does not cry.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Once upon a time, the little boy with red hair had had a brother whose facial scar had been there for as long as he could remember. It had warped as they'd aged, stretching grotesquely over his broadening face.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Where did you get that scar?" the little boy had asked one day, for curiosity had always been the first and worst of his sins.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His brother had leaned down until they were only inches apart, breath hot as he ground out, "Don't ever ask that again."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Three days later, the little boy's father's shirt comes untucked as his hand comes down again and again on his brother, and all he can do is watch.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It is only a week after that that his brother leaves him in the woods around their winter cabin, and after half the night has passed, it's an entirely different family that finds him, one with dark hair and pleasant smiles and another little boy whose eyes burn brighter than the first's hair.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"We were so worried about him," his father lies when they help him get home. "I'm sure you know how they can be at that age, Rodrigue, always wandering off."</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>"We'll make sure it doesn't happen again."</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>Sylvain is a creature of habit, and after three months of living with Felix, he has it down to an art. That being said, Felix is incredibly effective at distracting him.</p><p>"I think you should go to therapy," he says, scrubbing the dishes with a ferocity that had terrified Sylvain, once upon a time, before he'd realized that Felix only has one approach to anything.</p><p>"This is not the sort of distraction I was hoping for when I came in here."</p><p>"Then dry the dishes while you're at it." Felix is smiling, though, so Sylvain breathes out, tries not to think about all the life-endingly terrible reasons Felix might want him to go to therapy. "And before you start spiraling like a moron, I just think it's a good idea. I'll even go with you if you want."</p><p>Neither of them mention the suitcases that had shown up at their door last week or the note that had accompanied them: <em>Don't contact me ever again.</em> It's nice to have some of his clothes back, but he could have done without the reminder that his mother isn't any kinder than the man who had thrown him out to begin with. They also don't mention that he had sobbed for the first time since <em>that</em> night for a good three hours upon seeing it until he'd gasped and wheezed from dehydration and phlegm blocking his airway.</p><p>They don't mention it, but Sylvain knows they're both thinking about it anyway.</p><p>"Do you even know any good professionals?" Rodrigue had made Felix go to one once a few years ago, after Glenn, but they hadn't been a good fit, to put it mildly. Sometimes it's almost nice to remember that he isn't the only one with too-inquisitive parents.</p><p><em>They aren't</em> inquisitive, the Felix in his head reprimands. <em>They're assholes.</em></p><p>"Dimitri said he started going to one. I'll get him to talk to you, or whatever." It's not whatever, but sometimes, it's easier to pretend. "He can get some referrals."</p><p>They do the dishes in silence, as they are wont to, and later, when they are tangled up on the couch, Sylvain presses a delicate kiss to Felix's hair.</p><p>"If you change the channel to the Beezus and Ramona movie, I'll go to therapy," he says, and Felix knows that really means <em>yes,</em> but he changes it anyway.</p>
<hr/><p>The only reason Sylvain doesn't go completely buckwild insane when Miklan walks into the coffee shop is because of the therapy, so he supposes he owes Felix an extra fancy dinner date once he muddles his way through whatever bullshit intimidation tactic this is. Six months of it, and he is only just now remembering what regularly expressing emotions is like, but he feels like <em>expression</em> is not what his brother wants.</p><p>Still, it's only Felix and him that are working today, much like it had been over nine months ago, and Felix should probably not look at Miklan unless he has to. There are security cameras here, after all.</p><p>"Hi, welcome to Earth's Bounty. What can I get started for you?" He tries to keep his voice as peppy as usual, but it levels out somewhere around "malfunctioning robot" and sticks there. By the look on Miklan's face, he hears it all too clearly.</p><p>"Sylvain," he says, voice as gruff as it has always been. For once, there is no malice, but Sylvain trusts that about as much as he trusts his father not to commit brutal pipe murder if they ever lay eyes on each other again. "I didn't know you worked here."</p><p>"Yep. Don't suppose I'll have to quit due to harassment, will I?"</p><p>Miklan, the bastard, winces like they are a regular family where this is wholly undeserved, instead of one where both sons are pariahs who haven't seen the other in half a decade. "No. Can I just get a coffee?"</p><p>"Do you have to get it here?" This is a bad idea, he knows, one that is liable to get him beaten half to death in front of the security cameras and Felix, but hey, his therapist did tell him to set boundaries. "You know, since your little brother that you tried to kill is here."</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>There is no way this is real. Sylvain has been slipped some sort of hallucinogen as a prank, and he is standing here talking to absolutely nobody. "What?"</p><p>Miklan shifts nervously, and as he does, his eyes land on the star-shaped scar on Sylvain's cheek, light and shiny under the aggressively fluorescent lights. Something clicks in his gaze, but Sylvain doesn't want to know what it is. "I said I'm sorry."</p><p>"For <em>what?</em>" <em>This is not real,</em> his mind tells him, even as he hears his therapist's voice instructing him to be present in the moment. "What the fuck?"</p><p>"For everything, really. I... Listen, I was a fucking monster when I lived with our parents, and we really didn't need another-"</p><p>And then, of course, Felix comes around the corner, fresh off his break and wiping the remains of a croissant from his mouth when he spots Miklan, and the look in his eyes is so lethal that Sylvain is surprised his brother hasn't dropped dead.</p><p>"I am going to <em>chop you into fucking pieces,"</em> Felix starts, gathering speed as he skirts the edge of the mini-fridge and heads toward the edge of the counter. "I am going to make sure you never walk again, you miserable fucking-"</p><p>"Felix," Sylvain tries, but his boyfriend is a man on a goddamn mission. "Fe!"</p><p>But the nickname gets his attention, and those pretty amber eyes look at him with no mild amount of confusion. "What?"</p><p>"Can you just get him a large black coffee?"</p><p>The tension in his shoulders doesn't dissipate - it's visible even from where he's half-obscured from Sylvain's view by the espresso machine - but he touches Sylvain's arm as he passes, and even that buoys him more than he could have thought possible.</p><p>Miklan's eyes see too much.</p><p>"Is that where you got that scar?" he says, pointing to his own cheek.</p><p>"What, from Felix? As if." But he's deflecting, and they both know it.</p><p>"I should have been someone you could have relied on," he says, and his thumb comes up to touch the broad scar stretching across his own face in a gesture Sylvain remembers from a million melancholy moments. "Instead of another problem."</p><p>Sylvain breathes in. "Yeah, you should have."</p><p>When he breathes out, Miklan is still talking. "I'm happy for you, though."</p><p>He is spared from having to answer that by Felix's return, and the scowl on his face is the most beautiful thing Sylvain has ever seen. "Here's your fucking coffee."</p><p>Miklan gets out his wallet, but Sylvain stops him, sliding the coffee toward him until he has to catch it or risk it spilling everywhere. "Just take it," he says, and he is so, so tired.</p><p>"Thank you," Miklan says, quieter than Sylvain has ever seen him in the face of anyone who is not their father.</p><p>Sylvain breathes in. "I don't forgive you," he says.</p><p>When he breathes out, Miklan is gone.</p><p>Felix's hand tangles in his, every inch of them drawn to each other, and he presses a kiss to Sylvain's cheek that says words neither of them have. "If you don't brag about that at your next session, I'm doing it for you."</p><p>They flip the sign on the door to <em>closed</em> for the next thirty minutes as Sylvain remembers how to breathe without thinking about it, and if Felix steals half the fresh batch of powdered doughnuts to take home with them later, he sincerely doubts anyone will really care.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>twitter: @kingblaiddyd</p></blockquote></div></div>
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